


Days

by karavan



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Child Abuse, Ficlet, Incest, M/M, Molestation, Not porn, Trauma, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 07:34:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21157961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karavan/pseuds/karavan
Summary: Dave can always tell when something's about to happen.





	Days

**Author's Note:**

> This is NOT super graphic but please mind the tags.

You can always sense when it’s about to happen. You’ve gotten good at picking up on the little tells.

He’ll get handsy with you in the days leading up to it – an arm draped lazily over the back of the futon when you’re sitting together, fingers moving slow through your hair. When he finds excuses to touch you, rests a hand on your thigh, stands so close you can feel his breath stirring your hair, you’ll know it's almost time.

When it’s about to happen, he won’t fuck with you as much. The apartment will be peaceful, calm in a way you’ve learned to find sinister. Sometimes you wonder if these brief reprieves from the usual torment are his way of saying sorry for what he’s about to do. What he wants to do, bad enough that you think it’s the one thing on Earth he can’t control because the cycle never stops.

You’re so good at picking up on the tells you can narrow it down almost to the night. You don't hide in your closet on evenings you think he wants you, because the first time you did that he’d quickly dropped all the _nice_. He’d made sure you knew what a piece of shit you were for trying to run from him, and never again have you tried to get away. 

You’re nearly always awake now when he comes for you. You’ll hear his footsteps in the hallway first, slowing outside your door. Your breath will hitch in your throat and you’ll pull your comforter right up to your chin as if it might protect you, gripping at it until your fingers turn numb. When your door creaks open you’ll close your eyes, feigning sleep, and wait for him to sit on your bed.

You’ll roll towards him as the mattress dips beneath his weight. You’ll try not to flinch when he cups your face, leather warm on your skin as he rubs a thumb along your cheek, softly calls your name.

Sometimes you wonder how messed up you have to be to like this part.

The part where he’s sweet, gentle. Where he loves you _so much_ he just can’t help himself. It has to be you he touches, kisses; no one else will do.

You’ll open your eyes, roll over onto your back so he knows you’re awake. You’ll be still while he crushes you with his kisses, and you’ll never try to touch, kiss him back. He hates it when you like it.

But you will. You’ll like it until he gets to his feet, his shadow looming tall over your bed. You’ll like it until you hear the clink of his belt buckle, the sound of his zipper being drawn in the dark. Until he whispers, “Do you love your daddy?” and you’ll be forced to tell him yes, to show him how much with how willing you are to degrade yourself in front of him.

You never struggle. It’s not a fight you could win and besides, he never hurts you. You tell yourself you should be grateful for that – that it never goes further than his touching, his _looking_, the mess he leaves behind. In these moments he never makes you feel pain. You convince yourself that means he cares.

You don’t exist once he’s done with you.

In the days that follow he’ll have you strifing until every part of you aches. Once he’s through with that, reminded you what you’re worth, you’ll become part of the furniture again.

He won’t speak to you, won’t look at you. The few times he acknowledges you it’ll only be to snap at you, to criticize, to let you know he no longer cares if you love him. He doesn’t want your love.

Weeks will float by until something changes, and you’re never sure of the cause. You try to connect the dots, think maybe he only wants you when he’s lonely, vulnerable. Or is it that the clerk at the grocery store, maybe even the guy down at the 7-11, looked at you a beat too long?

The truth is you can never tell. One day something will change and you’ll stop being a part of the furniture. He’ll remember you exist. He’ll look at you – not through you, but at you – and from there the games will start all over again. 


End file.
